


The Masque Of The Shitty Vampyre

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Funny, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is different about young John Egbert, and his father too. Just recently they have both been acting so oddly....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Masque Of The Shitty Vampyre

Darkness fell over the Lalonde compound, and as the long fingers of night extinguished the last rays of the sun the lambent glow of the rising hunter's moon limned the white buildings and outhouses in silver light. The last orange-tinted clouds passed into the velvet blue of the night's embrace and the air was rent with the boiling fury of screaming horses as an old-fashioned coach thundered up the drive and skidded to a halt across the gravel leading to the entrance. The horses nickered and bayed as the occupants descended the iron steps from their carriage and glid across the gloaming toward that home. Ever since Mr. Egbert traded in his ageing Toyota for the midnight-black coach drawn by a black-plumed and silver-harnessed team of black mares there was no mistaking his approach for anyone else. As Mrs Lalonde opened the door and beckoned to him amiably she idly wondered if this was a mid-life crisis thing. She certainly wasn't in the mood- a woman has needs, as she reminded herself, and putting confused man children back on the straight and narrow didn't figure into them.  
  
“Darling!” She trilled, “so good of you, will you come in for drinks- you simply must!”  
“Yes,” hissed Mr. Egbert, as he stooped to seize her hand and press pallid lips to the knuckle, “I would love... a drink.”  
  
As she shooed Mr. Egbert into her home little John scuttled in behind him, hunching over and walking with a decided gait. That boy needed a woman's touch in his upbringing, suspected Mrs Lalonde, and if she had her way Mr. Egbert would be getting a firm upbringing from a woman's touch too before the night was out. As he passed her, John paused to raise both hands with his wrists bent and curled fingertips extended outwards, making a pawing motion.  
“Bleh!”  
“That's nice John. I believe Rose is upstairs in her room, I'm sure she'd be absolutely thrilled to see you.”  
“Thank you Mrs Lalonde! Bleh!”  
John proceeded to stalk up the stairs in a shambolic hobbling fashion, while Mr. Egbert removed his cloak with a swirl of pure white fabric and neatly laid it over the hat rack. He swivelled on the spot and glided toward her, extending an impossibly long and slender arm to pluck the half empty Martini glass from her unresisting fingers. He drew her toward him effortlessly, a hand creeping up her back to cradle her head and with the slightest whisper of a breath to lift her into his embrace as though she were no more substantial then a paper doll.  
“Oh, Mr. Egbert!”  
“Yes-s-s-s, Mrs Lalonde,”  
“You're certainly a one!”  
“Yes-s-s-s, Mrs Lalonde!”  
  
Upstairs, and the dark of the corridor was illuminated fitfully only by the dim light from downstairs. Outlined in the pale glow, John advanced on Rose's room. As he shuffled onwards his shadow spread out before him like a malignant harbinger, curling over and around itself, rising and falling, covering the distance too quickly and lurking around the door frame gleefully. John stroked pale gleaming fingers over the doorknob lovingly, before gripping tightly. Suddenly he cried out in surprise and drew his hand back as though it were burned. Looking up, he saw his silently cackling shadow pointing repeatedly at a note that was expertly tacked to the door. Written in perfect cursive on flowery paper adorned with rabbits and kittens and suchlike was a notice from Rose.  
  
 _I am so pleased that you respect my maturity enough to give me my own private space, mother. You are both accommodating and nurturing in allowing me my own space.  
                                        Yours etc, Rose Lalonde._  
  
John rolled his eyes. More of the infamous Lalonde mind-games, no doubt. Rose had apparently taken a mercilessly gleeful pleasure in measuring out every detail of the note, he could see faint lines she had rules with a pencil and carefully erased later. It was immaculate. Also, it was a clearly binding boundary. He sighed and knocked on the door.  
“Who is it?”  
“Bleh! I mean, hi Rose! It's John!”  
“Oh, hello John.”  
There was a pause. John started tapping his foot. “May I come in?”  
“If you like,”  
John gritted his teeth, “you mean, you'd like for me to come in?”  
“John, you can do as you please you don't need my permission.”  
“You have to say it.”  
“What?”  
“You have to invite me in.”  
“Why?”  
“It's... it's the rules!”  
  
There was an exasperated sigh, the scrape of a wooden chair, and the door was opened to reveal Rose staring at John with an upturned brow and a slightly mocking expression.  
“John, you are the very living end. Would you care to enter my room, if you please?” She gave a mockingly elaborate beckoning gesture, and John stalked into her room with a grateful smile.  
“Thank you Rose!”  
“What is it about the Egbert men and this excessive politeness,” she mused aloud, “and why do the Lalonde women like it?”  
“I don't know what you mean, Rose!”  
“Mm, of course you don't. Do sit down.”  
  
From downstairs came the sound of a high-pitched cackle followed by, “oh, Mr. Egbert!” Rose groaned and shut the door with just a hint of venom. John adopted a fixed posture, hunched over with his gnarled hands raised under his chin, and glided across the floor rigidly to lurk in the corner.  
  
“Is there something different about you?” Rose chuckled, “you're acting even more strangely then usual, and that's saying something. Last time you were here, I recall we were in the top-hat and dinner jacket phase. There were cards everywhere.”  
“Rose! I have to tell you, I am not like other boys!”  
“Really? I have to say I had never considered the possibility.”  
“Bleh!”  
“And stop doing that, it's facile. What's on your mind, John?”  
“I have gone through a... change, Rose!”  
“Oh dear. This is a boy thing, isn't it? Listen, John, Lord knows I shouldn't be the one to tell you this but it's about this time in your life that you are going to start getting certain urges, and that's entirely nor-”  
“Oh no! No not like that! Different urges!”  
Rose stared at him for a moment, and the other brow slowly started to raise, “John, you know there's nothing to be ashamed of if you find you're feeling things that maybe the other boys don't... if you're feeling things about the other boys...”  
“Rose! I am not a homosexual! I am a vampyre!”  
“Are you, now.”  
“Indeed! I rank among the un-dead! Tormented by a loathsome existence, cursed to darkness forever! Driven only to feast upon the life-essence of the living! My soul is a withered ember within the immortal husk of my animated corpse! Bleh!”  
“I have to tell you John, you're sounding just a little bit homosexual.”  
“Well,” said John a little lamely, “I'm not.”  
“All right then. Show me.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Show me something vampiric. You have weird, eldritch powers from beyond the grave no doubt?”  
“Uh-”  
“Transubstantiation perhaps? Telekinesis? I assume that from your unholy congress with the black and awful oblivion which lies beyond this pale life you can draw upon supernatural powers?”  
  
John was starting to think that perhaps he had chosen to reveal himself to the wrong person.  
  
“Well, yes. I mean sure! I have loads of that stuff.”  
“So? Show me.” Rose folded her arms and stared at him expectantly.  
“What, now?”  
“Yes.”  
“With you watching?”  
“Yes! Would Nosferatu the undead prefer that I turn my back?”  
“Um-”  
“Oh come on, John!”  
  
John sighed, he knew he wasn't getting out of it. He raised his arms and hissed, showing his teeth.  
  
“Yes?” Asked Rose.  
“You fee the fangf?” John asked helpfully.  
“Fangs?”  
“Yeff.”  
“Well... I mean.... I don't want to be rude...”  
“Uh?”  
“Well John, your teeth were a little... prominent... to begin with. I mean, I suppose maybe they look a little bigger?”  
“Eh?” John ran a finger over his teeth and gulped, “oh! This hasn't happened before, I promise!”  
“No! No I mean, they're very impressive, Count Orlok. Very nice.”  
“Do not patronise the undead!”  
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Rose coughed and sat down, folding her hands in her laps primly, “I didn't mean to be distracting. Please continue.”  
John posed again, and hissed helpfully. To be fair, Rose thought that perhaps his teeth did become a little larger, but then it might be just because of the ridiculous faces he was pulling.  
“John, please stop.”  
“They come out, usually!”  
“Perhaps it's just not your night.”  
“Yeah!”  
“Performance anxiety is nothing to be ashamed of.”  
“Yeah- hey! I can do it, I can!”  
“Mmm, I'm sure. Well, why don't we try something else. Do you have any other powers?”  
“Of course! As I shall now demonstrate!”  
  
John extended his arms towards her, flexing and groping his fingers. The wind rose and rattled at the panes of the window, the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to lengthen in tenebrous depths. John caught her gaze and stared at her intently.  
  
“Rose,” he intoned.  
“John.”  
“Ro-o-o-ose...”  
“Um. Jo-o-o-ohn.”  
“Do you hear my voice in your mind, Rose...”  
“I hear it in my ears, John.”  
“Do not fight me, surrender to the embrace of night.”  
“Yes, John.”  
“Give in to me, obey the vampyre...”  
“Yes, all right.”  
John blinked. “What?”  
“I said, all right. It worked.” She sighed, “I am your slave of love. I assume you wish to sate your deepest erotic and visceral impulses on my unresisting body.”  
“Um, well, uh, of course!”  
She stood up, “would you like me to undress, my Master? Shall I expose my tender white flesh for you to ravish?”  
“Oh!”  
Rose took a step toward him, John looked as though he would like to explode into a cloud of something.  
“John? Will I kneel before my immortal Master, the steersman of my soul? Will I present myself for his pleasures?”  
John was sufficiently goggle-eyed that his glasses were in danger of sliding right off his nose, he swallowed dryly.  
“That's, uh, that's right,” he said lamely.  
Rose sighed, “you're really not very good at this, John.”  
John visibly deflated, “aw, you were kidding the whole time!”  
“Well, I don't know, I suppose I kind of wanted to be your sex-slave? I mean, I maybe felt something a little?” She smiled helpfully.  
“Stop trying to make me feel better!”  
“Yes, heaven forfend I might offer any comfort to the eternal torments of the damned.”  
“I can do this stuff! For real!”  
“John, I'm not saying I don't believe you. I just...” she groped for words, “...maybe you should work up to the whole prince of darkness thing.”  
“Yeah.”  
“It's a really good start though!”  
“Yeah.”  
“I really did feel a slight urge to become your unresisting concubine there for a moment.”  
“Rose! That's not making me feel better!”  
  
She patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.  
“Well. I think perhaps you shouldn't worry about it too much. I'm sure when you feel the irresistible compulsion to drink my blood it'll all work out.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Sure, John. And when you're ready, I'll be your willing and vulnerable victim.”  
“You're not just saying that?”  
She smiled warmly, “oh, John. I promise, if ever I am to fall prey to the dread powers of the undead, I hope it's you I wake up screaming to find poised over my sleeping neck.”  
“Aw, thanks, Rose!”  
“You're quite welcome, John.”  
  
Later, John and his father stalked down the gravel drive towards their horrifying carriage. The horses steamed and stamped impatiently, shaking their midnight black plumes in the night air.  
“Did you have a good time with your little friend, John?”  
“Yes, dad.”  
“I'm glad, it's so important to maintain good relations.”  
“I know, dad.”  
“And John, did you...?”  
John looked up at the white cloaked figure beside him and beamed, “I was so close, dad! I really felt like it was about to happen!”  
“Oh? That's wonderful!”  
“I know! I mean, I didn't quite get it right, but Rose was super nice and she totally said that I could suck her blood any time!”  
“That's marvellous- an open invitation from a mortal is a valuable thing John, do not forget it.”  
“I won't, dad!”  
“And don't be in too much of a hurry. The Lalonde women are,” he paused, “quite intense.”  
“Yeah, I know what you mean!”  
John grinned as his hair was ruffled fondly and he was lifted up by big, strong hands into the carriage.  
“Remember John, I'm so very proud of you.”  
“Thanks, dad!”  
  
When they had departed into the ever unfolding arms of the night, Rose made her way downstairs for a glass of water. She paused in the lounge, seeing her mother draped scandalously over a couch with one hand pressed to her forehead. She was wearing a diaphanous garment of sheer gauze that left little to the imagination and gave some pretty strong clues as to the blanks. She moaned softly and wriggled a little in position.  
“Oh for heaven's sake, mother!”  
“Oh, Mr. Egbert...”  
Rose rolled her eyes and walked on, “I swear, one day we're going to have words about this little drinking problem.”


End file.
